


poetry is the key to the heart

by Indigo_Penstrokes



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, Poetry, ambiguous love confessions, these idiots are really really gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 06:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18794707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indigo_Penstrokes/pseuds/Indigo_Penstrokes
Summary: Feelings have never come easy to Darcy, but when he's around Bill everything seems to melt. So when Bill reads a love poem to him in the midnight quiet of the eldest Reid's bedroom anything feels possible. Maybe even love.





	poetry is the key to the heart

The party was stuffy, not only in the lack of air but also in the people. The nobility of New York City were two faced and stifling, but Darcy made small conversation with most of them. He didn't quite hate it, but he didn't enjoy it either. It was monotonous, shake hands, ask how the business is going or how the political campaign is coming, answer their same few questions over and over, shake hands again, say goodbye, then move onto the next one. A never ending cycle of formality.

The only thing that kept him at these ordeals after the strike was Bill. Bill who kept shooting him warm smiles across the crowded ballroom. Bill who promised they would sneak away after a few hours of schmoozing. Bill who looked stunning in his blue grey suit. 

Bill who was making his way towards Darcy like a knight in shining armor. 

“You look ready to get out of here, care to check up on Miss Plumber with me? I've heard she’s fallen ill and might want some company.” Bill’s smile was absolutely radiant as he spoke, it made Darcy's knees weak. That smile could convince you of the most ludicrous falsehood.

“Yes please.” A note of true desperation crept into Darcy's voice, but he recovered quickly, “I think she would enjoy our company very much.” 

“Then let's go.” He pushed the door behind them open, “After you.” 

Darcy slipped through it into the much quieter halls of Reid manor. The darkness comforting after the blinding brightness of the party. He felt like he could finally breathe again.

“Care to lead the way?” Bill asked, right over Darcy's left shoulder and suddenly he was breathless again.

“Of course, this way.” 

Darcy led them both through the labyrinth like halls of the Reid residence, past mirrors and paintings, empty staircases and arching bay windows. The house was brilliant in the darkened silence. He only stopped once they reached his room on the second floor.

“Pardon the mess,” Darcy mumbled out as he threw his suit jacket onto his neatly made bed. The mess being a few books and pads of paper strewn about his desk and crumpled scrap paper littering the floor. For most other people the room would have seemed rather clean. Most people didn't know Darcy though. Most people also wouldn't have known about the hollowed out book that sat on the desk that held a pack of cigarettes. 

His mother detested smoking and didn't allow any of her children to pick up the habit, or so she thought. But Darcy had acquired the “unseemingly” habit from the boys down in the press room who were all too happy to spot him a cigarette after a long day.

Still not looking at Bill Darcy picked up the trick book and pulled out a cigarette. He felt around for the matchbook in his pocket as he walked over to the window that sat on the south most wall of the room.

“What's this?” Bill asked, effectively drawing Darcy from his thoughts by the window, which was now open, allowing the cool night air to wash into the room. Bill had picked up a small book that was seated at the top of the tallest stack. 

“Poetry, I think it's a collection of the Elizabethan poets and some more modern ones. Shakespeare, Marlowe, the like.” Darcy fought the urge to blush as he pulled his legs up his chest as he sat on the window seat. There was nothing embarrassing about reading poetry. But nonetheless he turned away from Bill, his cheeks aflame, and stuck a match. 

Bill did things to his heart and insides that he didn't quite know how to describe, so instead of describing them he lit the cigarette, and drew the smoke into his lungs.

A moment, two moments, three moments passed in a quiet stillness. It seemed the night was holding its breath.

“ _Come live with me and be my love,_  
_And we will all the pleasures prove,_  
_That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,_  
_Woods, or steepy mountain yields_.” Bill's voice broke the silence as gentle and soft as a spring breeze, yet it still made Darcy startle. 

“Bill what're-” But he stopped himself as he saw Bill standing there, book in hand, illuminated by the soft moonlight. 

“ _And we will sit upon the Rocks,_  
_Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks_ ,  
_By shallow Rivers to whose falls_  
_Melodious birds sing Madrigals_.” Bill took another step towards Darcy, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he looked up from the book of poetry. 

“ _And I will make thee beds of Roses_  
_And a thousand fragrant posies_ ,  
_A cap of flowers, and a kirtle_  
_Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle_ ,” he continued, the words flowing like honey from his lips and through the air. Melodious and dulcet. “ _A gown made of the finest wool,_  
_Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;_  
_Fair lined slippers for the cold_ ,  
_With buckles of the purest gold_.” 

It took all of Darcy's will power to look away, if he didn't he was sure he would do something very, incredibly stupid. So instead he focused on the spiral of smoke as it floated out the window, on the gentle hum of the crickets and cicadas outside.

“ _A belt of straw and Ivy buds,_  
_With Coral clasps and Amber studs:_  
_And if these pleasures may thee move_ ,  
_Come live with me, and be my love_.” Bill’s voice was softer than the finest cotton, it seemed no louder than the beat of a moth’s velvet wings. “ _The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing_  
_For thy delight each May-morning:_  
_If these delights thy mind may move_ ,  
_Then live with me, and be my love_.”

By the time he finished the stanza a single tear raced down Darcy's cheek. The drop made into diamond in the moonlight.

“Why did you choose that one?” His words came on a stream of silver, the smoke turned precious in the glow of the night. 

“Why do you think?” That hint of a smile was back as he sat beside Darcy's feet.

Darcy's heart raced, a thunderous flap of wings against the cage if his ribs. Ignoring the blush upon his cheeks he stubbed out the cigarette on the limestone ledge of the window before reaching to take the book from Bill. 

He ignored how their hands just barely brushed, and turned to a well marked page. The paper was supple under his fingers as he began to read the poem he had memorised all those nights ago. 

“ _Not marble nor the gilded monuments_  
_Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme, but you shall shine more bright in these contents than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish time_.  
_When wasteful war shall statues overturn, and broils root out the work of masonry, nor Mars his sword nor war’s quick fire shall burn the living record of your memory_.” Darcy took a tremulous breath, his heart in his throat. “’ _Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity_  
_Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room even in the eyes of all posterity that wear this world out to the ending doom_.  
_So, till the Judgement that yourself arise_ ,  
_You live in this, and dwell in lovers’ eyes_.”

Darcy barely dared to look up, but when he did he was struck breathless. In the wash of moonlight Bill sat there, coat cast aside and tie loose, looking like Adonis in the starlit garden. 

For five seconds or maybe it was five hours, the two just stared at one another. Darcy with his book of poems and confessions, Bill with his head tipped back against the wall. 

“Bill I-” but the words died in his throat. How could he possibly find words of his own after confessing all that through the Bard’s.

“Feel the same?” Bill shifted so his leg pressed against Darcy's shin, the contact point shooting stars of heat up his leg and into his chest. 

Darcy let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding. “But why?” 

Bill shifted closer again and Darcy pulled his gaze out to the stars, tracing over familiar constellations as a hand came to rest on his knee.

“Why? Darcy because you're brilliant. and intelligent, you can figure out anything you put your mind to. You're by far the smartest person I know.” Bill paused and Darcy snuck a glance at the other boy's radiant grin. “And because your smile could make me believe you hung the moon in the sky, hell, it made me join a strike after all didn't it?” 

Darcy went to correct him, say he didn't deserve any of those words, but Bill wasn't finished. 

“Darcy, you're so much more than you think. And I wish you could see it. I wish I could change the world so you can see how fantastically wonderful you are.” Bill was so close that Darcy could make out nearly every eyelash that framed Bill’s chocolate brown eyes. 

A moment passed and Darcy didn't know what to do. His gut told him to close the gap between them, but his brain told him to stay put. So there he was, caught in a stalemate of his own creation. 

“Darcy, say something, please.” 

And it was with that note of tart desperation that Darcy found his hand coming up to cup Bill's cheek. He brushed his thumb across the smooth curve of Bill's cheekbone, committing the feeling to memory. 

“I've never been good with words,” he whispered softly, worried he'd fracture the delicate moment built between them. 

“Then show me.” Bill placed his hand over Darcy's. “Show me.”

Darcy set the book on the floor beside the window seat, then every so carefully brought his other hand up to Bill's face. 

I'm holding the world in my hands, he thought fondly, smiling to himself. 

He dropped his gaze from Bill's eyes to his lips opting to drown in the lesser of the two, which was a mistake. Or maybe it wasn't, because before he could even form the proper train of thought he was leaning in to kiss those petal pink lips. 

It was everything he had ever dreamed it would be and yet it was nothing like that at all. There were no stars or explosions, just a steady warmth that felt like the first sunshine after a long winter. It felt like falling and flying, his insides doing acrobatics when Bill's hand slipped to his waist. It was coming home after months, even years away. But one thing was for certain, he never wanted it to end.

Darcy Reid was kissing Bill Hearst. 

And he never wanted it to end. 

So when Bill pulled away Darcy felt his stomach drop through the floor as he dropped his hands to Bill's lapels. 

“Why haven't we done this sooner?” Bill asked between nearly ragged breaths, a loopy grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

“I haven't the faintest idea, so let's make up for lost time.” He pulled Bill back in for another axis tilting kiss. 

This time stars exploded behind Darcy's eyes. The added touch of urgency flavoring the kiss more on the messy side, even so Darcy drank it all in. How he had made it so long without having Bill like this was beyond his mind’s reaches. But now that he had it, he needed it like a starving man come home to dinner. 

Darcy’s focus never strayed from the feeling of Bill's lips on his own, or sometimes the feeling of those lips trailing down his neck and over his cheeks. He kept track of the burning trails Bill’s hands left on his back. 

It was exhilarating. 

It was frightening. 

“Bill,” He gasped out between fervent kisses. “William.” 

“Yes darling?” And oh, that was new. Affectionate names was something Darcy would have to familiarize himself with if the way his heart sped up was any indication. 

“The party must be nearly over.” But his thoughts were muddled at the sight of Bill smiling up at him with his eyes half lidded. 

“Yes, and?” Bill placed a kiss on the corner of Darcy's lips.

“My father will realize we're gone. He'll come up to check on me.” He carefully cupped Bill's face as he tilted it up to face his own. “You're going to have to be gone before he does that.” 

Then as if on cue, the soft sounds of people coming up the stairs filtered into the quiet recess of the room. 

“Out the window, now.” Darcy pushed Bill off of himself, already searching for Bill's discarded jacket. 

“Isn't it a bit far?” Bill balked as he peered out the open window to the garden below. 

“There's a trellis about six feet down, just climb down that. Trust me you're going to be fine.” He gave Bill the jacket back along with a kiss that promised more to come. 

“I trust you with my life.” And with those words Bill lowered himself onto the window ledge, only the mussed top of his head visible over the limestone. 

Once Bill disappeared from Darcy's sight he leaned over the edge to make sure the other boy hadn't fallen to his untimely demise. But sure enough there was Bill standing out on the lawn, the pale light casting his features in white gold and marble. Darcy could even make out the lopsided smile as Bill turned to wave at him before jogging off into the night. 

Darcy watched as his silhouette founded the corner of the manor, hopefully joining the stream of leaving guests, with two fingers pressed to his still tingling lips. All of that had really just happened, it wasn't some fantasy Darcy had made up. It actually happened. 

He was so lost in his haze of happiness that he didn't hear the door open. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Jean's voice called from the doorway. 

“I, yes, I just needed air.” He recovered quickly and gestured towards the window. “I'm feeling quite better now.”

“Mother was worried when you _and_ Bill left.” She had an almost knowing look on her face. “She said something about you boys needing to socialize with the companies you're both going to take over.” 

“Well I'm sorry I came down with a splitting headache, besides Ogden can do all of the socializing for me.” Darcy got up from the window sill and stretched.

“A headache?” Jean cocked an eyebrow, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Yes, a headache. Now if you wouldn't mind I would like to go to bed.” He crossed the room so he was standing just outside the rectangle of light from the hall. “So goodnight Jean, I will see you in the morning.” 

“If you insist.” She didn't question it anymore, but something about her expression made Darcy feel like he would hear more of it later. 

The door closed again with a solid click and Darcy was alone again, back at the window and staring up at the stars. Alone with the joy that wedged it's way so deep into his heart he was sure he would be smiling for days about it. 

It was a joy that sang through his veins like a grand symphony. It left him feeling lighter than air, like if he let go of the window sill he would fly up and join the moon in her velvet black sky. So instead of floating away to join the stars, he picked up his book yet again. It had fallen open to a most opportune page.

“ _How do I love thee? Let me count the ways_.” He read, a smile gracing his face yet again.  
“ _I love thee to the depth and breadth and height,_  
_My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight_ ,  
_For the ends of being and ideal grace_.  
_I love thee to the level of every day's_  
_Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light_.”

He made his way over to the bed, finishing the poem with the phantoms of a kiss on his lips. “ _I love thee freely, as men strive for right._  
_I love thee purely, as they turn from praise_.  
_I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs_ ,  
_and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose_  
_with my lost saints. I love thee with the breath_ ,  
_Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose_ ,  
_I shall but love thee better after death_.”

**Author's Note:**

> the poems used in this fic in order of their appearence:  
> The Passionate Shepherd To His Love - Christopher Marlowe  
> Sonnet 55, Not Marble Nor the Gilded Monuments - William Shakespeare  
> Sonnet 43, How Do I Love Thee? - Elizabeth Barrett Browning
> 
> as always comments are what fuels the writing machine so let me know what you thought! i'm on tumblr over @ad-astra-de-luna feel free to drop me an ask


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